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reached the puckered brown rose of her anus, sampling it, and then the pink wings that protected that vital channel of love.
    ‘Stand aside,’ Armand ordered. ‘She is mine and so are all her treasures. You may use her when I’m done.’ He threw aside the whip, pushed Johnson out of the way and lifted Maria, one arm round her shoulders, the other beneath her buttocks.
    She cried out in agony, but he didn’t stop until he’d reached the divan and laid her down. Then with hardly a pause he was on her and in her, his phallus carving its way through her maidenhead. A moment of resistance and he was inside and Maria was no longer a virgin. The tightness of her clasping his member like a velvet glove, the gush of fluid as her pain was transformed into pleasure, her moans that changed to a keening note of ecstasy, worked like yeast on his overexcited cock. He kissed her neck, her throat, and forced his tongue between her lips, just as he was thrusting his member into her vagina. And Maria stopped struggling. Her limbs went lax as he slid his fingers between their bodies and found the hard nodule of her pleasure button, rubbing it steadily.
    ‘Oh, God, I’m dying,’ she gasped and convulsed in orgasm.
    ‘No, you’re not dying,’ he murmured. ‘You’re living… have come alive after years of repression. Now feel me reach my apogee, you dirty little bitch.’
    He was climbing that stairway to bliss – up and up – only death could stop him now. He reached the peak in a spasm of ecstasy so acute his head reeled. He came back to reality completely drained of spunk and, as always after fucking, experiencing that disillusion and self-disgust that always tormented him.
    ‘What is it, master?’ queried Sabrina, as he abandoned the girl and reached for wine. ‘Didn’t she please you?’
    He scowled at her – the blackest scowl she had ever seen on his handsome face, as he barked, ‘Another spineless virgin. Is there no female left on God’s earth who will fight me?’
    ‘Well, here’s a to-do!’ exclaimed Lady Alvina Segar, after she had listened to Romilly’s tale of woe.
    They were in the bedroom, seated on a dainty walnut couch, with a little table drawn close on which stood a silver teapot, milk jug, sugar basin and plate of fancy cakes. Jessica Wade and Alvina’s maid, Kitty Rigg, were out of earshot near the window embrasure. Romilly thought it grossly unfair that her friend was allowed to drive out with only the sprightly girl as chaperone. But then Lord and Lady Segar were of liberal views and gave their daughter a great deal of freedom. She had been brought up in the company of her brothers and their friends, the youngest child with married sisters who had families of their own.
    ‘It’s too awful, isn’t it?’ Romilly wailed, springing up and pacing about, driving her fist into her palm.
    Alvina helped herself to another iced fancy, then said with a careless shrug, ‘I’ve heard of worse.’
    ‘What?’ Romilly stopped dead in front of her, breasts heaving with indignation. ‘Are you trying to tell me that anything could be worse than banishment to the Caribbean?’
    ‘Calm down, dear fool,’ Alvina advised, laughter lifting her wide crimson mouth and lighting up her face. She looked even more beautiful when she laughed, and this was often.
    She was a stunning woman of nineteen, with tumbling red hair and hazel eyes. Fashionable and popular, she was as yet unmarried but had suitors aplenty. There was ample opportunity for a lady in her position to encourage potential lovers as well as prospective husbands, and she had recently surrendered her virginity to a virile groom from her father’s stables. Romilly had been shocked.
    ‘Weren’t you worried about getting with child?’ had been her first question after she’d listened in disbelief to Alvina’s graphic description of what had taken place between her and this commoner. It beggared belief and she still wasn’t sure if she’d heard her